Bar - sequel to Visit
by annajanewrites
Summary: Clay/Gemma fic. A sequel to another story I wrote titled "Visit." In this story-"Bar"-Clay searches for a very drunk/high Gemma. I own nothing related to Sons of Anarchy - everything belongs to Kurt Sutter.


An unusually cool wind whipped around Charming just as the sun was dipping below the trees. The sky, a soft, orange glow, was cloudless and merging into night when Clay pulled his Cadillac into the parking lot of Petie's Bar. He fumbled with the keys after turning off the ignition; driving an actual car wasn't something he was used to, but then again, neither was searching for his estranged wife in a random, scummy bar. But Clay could handle anything, of this he had always been certain.

The front door to Petie's was propped open, letting in the breeze. There was a girl leaning against the door, a pretty blonde in denim cutoffs blowing smoke from her cherry lips, but Clay didn't even look twice, just brushed right past her and walked inside.

Earlier this morning, he had to press Juice, of all people, for the intel on Gemma. Clay had the unshakeable feeling that something was off. It's been days since he's seen her, which in their world-even separated-was unlikely. _Especially_ after the morning they'd had over the weekend. It wasn't much, but Gemma had admitted she missed Clay, and to him, that was progress.

She was sitting at the end of the bar with her legs crossed towards some young punk when Clay finally found her. He noted the way her hair hung in long, tangly strands all around her shoulders and how her blouse dipped way too low for his liking. Yes, she was still beautiful, but she also looked broken and lost and for a second the horror of it all was just too much for him to bear. But turning back was not an option and he'd never choose it if it was, anyway.

He was behind her chair within seconds, sliding himself in between Gemma and the young guy she was talking to.

"Why don't you take a walk, kid," Clay said to the guy, his words laced with malice.

Gemma, clearly inebriated, laughed instantly upon registering his face.

"Well _look_ who's checkin' up on me yet again," she said sarcastically.

"Who the hell are you?" the guy asked in annoyance.

"Her husband," Clay said flatly as he snaked an arm around the back of Gemma's chair.

Gemma stayed silent. The guy didn't even protest, seemed too drunk to argue. He just rolled his eyes, downed the shot already poured in front of him then rose from his chair to walk to the restroom.

"I gotta get you outta here," Clay said. It wasn't a request.

Gemma shook her head.

"Nah, I'm fine. I'm good."

"Yeah, you look it," he mused.

"Go to hell," Gemma said before taking another swig of her beer.

"What," he questioned, leaning in real close to her face, "Did you visit your cancerous friend right before coming here? That why you're so out of it?"

Clay felt he was really trying, but containing his disdain for this whole scene was next to impossible.

"What is your problem?"

"I just don't want you here."

"And who the hell cares what you want?

_Wish you still did_, he thought. "What's the matter with you?"

"She got up from the bar shakily and walked toward the front door.

The bartender looked at Clay expectantly. Clay rolled his eyes, fished a twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and tossed it on the table before chasing after Gemma.

Outside, he saw the cold air made Gemma shiver and he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around her, a severe longing that practically stopped him in his tracks. Gemma stood on the pavement in front of the bar and swayed a bit as her eyes searched the lot.

"I drove the Caddy, not my bike," he said, assuming her thought.

With her back to him, she responded, "Actually, I'm just gonna call Nero, so you wasted a trip."

"Like hell you are," Clay laughed, attempting to mask his pain.

"I _told_ you, Clay, I told you to stop checkin' up on me."

_She's just trying to talk shit to hurt you_, he thought. _Don't let her get away with it_.

"Look," he said, grabbing both of her shoulders from behind to turn her around to face him. She shrugged him off immediately, and the aggression of it broke his heart into a thousand pieces. He still hated himself for that night, for ever putting his hands on her like that. The memory of that night is what makes losing his patch bearable, even just a little, because it feels like a penance.

Clay stood there unmoving, just watching her face, saline threatening to glaze over his eyes, his mind in disbelief over how unhinged this woman can make him.

He was surprised when Gemma suddenly fell against him, her body seemingly searching for something.

"Why," she whispered, her lips against his chest. "Why did you have to do all this? We coulda been happy."

"We were very happy," he said quietly as he stroked her hair. "And we can be happy again, baby."

She pushed against him to lean herself back against the car again.

"No." A pause. "We can't."

"We'll get through this shit. We always do."

"You don't understand."

"The other morning..." he started, voice falling to a throaty whisper. "The other morning-"

"The other morning," Gemma interrupted mockingly. "Do you even know what the other morning was?"

"Yeah, I do! It was _you_ coming to your goddamn senses and realizing that we're not supposed to be apart."

"It's not that simple," she said softly, heavy-lidded eyes fluttering open and closed.

Clay palmed her cheeks gently. Her skin was ablaze underneath his fingertips.

"You don't know what I have to do," she whispered.

"What? What do you have to do, Gem?"

She began to shake her head violently.

"Just take me home," she relented.

"What do you have to do?"

"Maybe I am drunk."

"_Gemma_," Clay commanded.

At this point he could feel his nerves practically electrified with fear.

"Just... get out of here, Clay," she said evenly.

Clay was slack-jawed for a second.

"Jesus Christ, I came here to get you away from this scummy bar cause I couldn't stand the thought of you-"

"No," she interrupted. "I don't mean out of _here_, like this place. I mean... shit."

"What _do_ you mean?" Clay asked, exasperated. He was so frustrated over standing with her in an empty parking lot, getting chills from this fluke of a cold front, all the while wondering if she is just wasted drunk or if she's really trying to tell him something.

"It's Jax," Gemma finally said. "He's planning to get rid of you. And he's ordered me to help him do it."

**_To be continued..._**


End file.
